I’m thinking of empty boxes

cardboard constructed resting on dusty shelves
neglected discarded
when a new box is acquired
and eventually placed on another dusty shelf
beneath a dusty shelf
which is beneath a dusty shelf

The room is filled with dusty shelves
the red pulsing walls covered with stacks of dusty boxes
growing higher with new contributions
decaying and moth-eaten
becoming as old and decrepit as
the owner who hide them away

We keep buying new boxes
hoping that it will be the perfect fit
sifting through decayed paper and
water stained photographs
for the part that matters
but we never really find it

So we put the box away
hidden on a dusty shelf
in a dusty room
in a dusty heart